


The Taste of Tears

by ladywilde



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Dark, F/M, Het, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-05
Updated: 2010-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-08 18:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladywilde/pseuds/ladywilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set somewhere in a vague AU Season 2. Sylar finds himself determined to get back to New York, to Mohinder, but his meeting with Maya will have repercussions none of them could ever have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taste of Tears

The Taste of Tears

Summary: Set somewhere in a vague AU Season 2. Sylar finds himself determined to get back to New York, to Mohinder, but his meeting with Maya will have repercussions none of them could ever have imagined.

Paring: Mohinder x Sylar, Sylar x Maya

Word Count: 9500 (around)

Rating: Hard R for adult themes: graphic m/m sex, blood, violence, dub/con, angst, mentions of heterosexual sex, and some language.

Also, you might wonder why Molly wasn't included in this but I couldn't see having her in the midst of all this, ahem, chaos if you will XD So for this fic Mohinder lives alone

Many HUGE thank you's to my darling, Neshel, who not only took this long-winded rambling mess of a fic and made it so better than I could have hoped for but also gave me the actual confidence to post this. LOVE YOU!!!

 

You might think that you're gonna change me   
Oooh girl, don't even try   
So many others tried so hard to tame me   
So many others cried   
I'm tellin' you baby

I'm a bad bad man, that's what I am, I'm bad for you   
I'm a bad bad man, oh yes I am, so whatcha gonna do?

\-- Bad Company

 

***

Everything was black…

He was walking, walking somewhere through the dark. Darkness so thick he felt it twist its way around his body, clinging to him like invisible cobwebs. There was alarm there, some, a small nugget that grew slowly in the pit of his gut. He wanted to stop - felt he had to - but his body was not his own. So he walked.

There was no control.

A door –

It stood somewhere in the distance, at first nothing but a vague shape. The outline glowed white, standing out against the surrounding blackness.

The apprehension spread through him, desperate and demanding.

Even still, there was no stopping him. He kept walking. Somewhere inside him, despite the unease, the fear, he realized there was no choice. He had to reach it.

The door…

He lifted his hands up - odd that he found them soaked in blood.

Falling…

In drips and drabs off the sides of his hands. There was a ping, as if they those exacting droplets had struck something below him - something cold and metallic out there in the unknown dark.

He pressed a bloody palm against the door and simply ran his hand down along it – lost at the sight of his hand printed there, dripping and smeared, bleeding crimson against stark whiteness.

"I can't save you."

It was a voice he recognized. Hearing it, he leaned his forehead into the door. A shudder ripped through him. Blood and tears and sweat mingled together while his heart - unhinged and bared open - throbbed inside his chest, threatening to burst.

"Please," he whimpered. "Please…"

"Gabriel!"

A voice – Sylar stumbled up and towards the sound of it, gasping and clawing finding himself in pitch darkness, body soaked in sweat.

He sat up in the passenger seat, heart thudding as if it meant to break apart inside his chest. It was night outside. Coming into wakefulness, he realized that he was in a car parked somewhere off a deserted side road in the middle of the New Mexico desert.

Gabriel turned his eyes, straining them against the gloom, towards the sound of the voice. Maya was leaning over him, asking him if he was alright.

"What the – who?" Sylar stammered, moving into an upright position.

"You were having a bad dream, a nightmare," Maya soothed. He caught her dark eyes, immense in the meager moonlight, studying him with concern.

Sylar wiped at his face, coughed and straightened himself. There was the strange sensation of fear caught somewhere in his throat. He could practically taste his own tears; could feel them sharp and infuriating, pricking the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah, I guess I was. Thanks for waking me up."

Sylar turned around in his seat and noticed that the back of the car was empty. He looked back towards Maya, sitting across from him in the driver's seat.

"Where'd your brother go?" He asked her, curious.

"He can't sleep sometimes. So he went for a walk." Maya answered with a shrug.

Sylar nodded and opened the passenger side door so he could stretch out his long legs, feeling once sleeping limbs start to come awake. The desert was still warm even in the middle of the night. There was no breeze, just warm air coupled with bright moonlight and sand, miles and miles of sand. Somewhere out in the distance two coyotes carried on a strange duet with one another, filling the still night time air with the sounds of their courting.

Sylar's mind spun around the dream he had just woken from. He could still see the door; could feel it under slippery, blood soaked hands. If only he had not woken when he did…

Sylar put his head in his hands and sighed deeply. He stiffened when he felt a hand, her hand, soft and cool on the back of his neck as she rubbed it. She was making soothing noises, whispering something in Spanish. He grimaced at her touch, its gentleness. He didn't need that from her, to be comforted. He turned in his seat and grabbed hold of her hand, hard enough to make her gasp out loud. He leaned closer until she was pressed flat against her seat.

Her eyes were big and wide, her expression a mixture of confusion and worry. Maya struggled for only a moment before he had his lips pressed flat against her own. He loosened the tight grip he had held on her fragile wrist and instead used it to push her back even farther into the upholstery. A small moan fell from her lips as she opened her mouth to him; sighing with pleasure into the kiss.

She felt different, softer then he had – smaller, weaker – he knew he could break her and the thrill of that, the knowledge that crushing her would be easy, didn't bring him the satisfaction that had imagined it might. Instead, it made him feel even emptier, hollowed out and even more aware of the ache inside him; one that couldn't be filled by the young, beautiful girl in his arms.

That door there had to be a way to get beyond the door…

Maya was now squirming excitedly beneath him and those clinging hands of hers were busy fisting his hair; those hungry lips of hers returning the kiss with a feverish one of her own. He could feel her thrusting up against him, could feel her softness and her rounded breasts against his chest. How fragile she seemed when crushed against him. Her lips had the taste of sweetness; of something good and right and that only revolted him further – this wasn't what he wanted; it was nothing.

Nothing at all…

There was no pleasure and there was no pain. It was as if what they were doing was the absence of anything real, anything tangible. It was just skin against skin, hot breath against hot breath and he was reaching, striving and trying to get it back with every fiber of himself. That feeling – the feeling he had when he had him laid bare in front of him, twisted under him and crying out through every slam of hips, every kiss, every single rough and beautiful caress. This wasn't even a substitute; it was nothing at all.

Nothing…

There was a flash of confusion in those deep dark eyes of hers and a definite look of worry coloring her features. He untangled her arms from his own but kept her close, leaving her flushed against him, the breath caught in her throat - uncompleted, desperate.

"Is it me?" Maya asked.

She reached up now to cup his face between her palms and they were so small, so soft and warm. Sylar wanted to nuzzle against their softness; maybe find something there that he had missed. Comfort perhaps? But, he didn't need comfort. He didn't need anyone and never would. Most certainly he did not need this girl?

What could she possibly offer him anyway? He was cursed, damned and he was only deluding himself, if he believed for even a second that anything good was his to be had. He had already learned that lesson. Or hadn't he? How much longer could he pretend, deny, the real reason why he was so desperate to get back to New York?

He turned away from Maya and pushed the door of the car open, leaning out and putting his head in hands. She was still talking and he was doing his best to drown out the sound. Her voice had now taken on the annoying whine of a buzz saw.

Truthfully, he wanted nothing more then to throttle her; but sadly, he was well aware of the fact that he needed her and even worse then her; he also needed her suspicious, pain in the ass brother-where ever the hell he had wandered off to. So he willed away the surge of violence that coursed through him, and turned his head slightly towards her. The sight of her swollen lips – eyes burned up with lust and the smallest trace of fear made him once more see the image, a spilt second where she was someone else, some one so beautiful it had hurt to look at them. He had been powerless, as powerless as he was now, not to fall for him. Everything could have been different had he only…

"No, it's not you," Sylar reassured her. There was the sound of a sigh as Maya thought for a moment before she spoke again.

"You love someone, yes?"

"I don't believe in love," Sylar countered.

Maya just smiled sweetly. He felt her lean across the seat and she slid her hand onto his arm. He turned to it - those long, slender fingers - so elegantly shaped, perfect hands - perfect like…

Still he fought the urge to shake her off like an insect that had crawled upon him - unwanted, disgusting and…

"You will someday." Maya paused as if weighing something. He found her eyes in the glow of moonlight. "A woman, she hurt you? Betray you?"

Sylar allowed a sad smile to ghost his lips. A smile that told more truth then perhaps he himself could have realized.

"Yes."

"Was she beautiful?"

"Very beautiful," Sylar replied, "Too beautiful."

Maya leaned forward to touch him again. This time he did not want to shake her hand off him but instead reached out and circled her wrist with his insistent fingers.

Maya let out a small gasp; a perfect 'O' of surprise forming on her soft, little mouth.

The door – he knew he would find away through it – the twins, they were the key. Must keep them – keep her happy, just long enough to find a way through that door.

I just want him – want him now, yesterday – forever. I will figure out my redemption later.

"I like you Gabriel. We will be friends, okay?"

He nodded because anything else and he would hurt her. He turned back to acknowledge her, those doe eyes of her, that annoying bob of her head and he forced his lips to form a disarming smile instead of the waiting smirk that curled against his lips.

She had purpose, and he had no qualms about exploiting it - if it meant having him back - he would do it, - yes redemption later but first...

***

In the end, it was easy enough for him to convince Maya to leave behind her brother. It was harder, however, for Sylar to convince the kid that it was in his best interest to go quietly. It wasn't until he had ended his life with a quick stab wound to the throat with a switchblade - Sylar was smart enough to pick one up during their travels - that the kid finally understood just how serious the man they were traveling with was. So as Alejandro bled out his short, miserable life onto some piss yellow motel carpet, Sylar stood over him and watched, feeling alive again for the first time in as long as he could remember. Then Sylar heard the tentative knock of his innocent, twin sister coming over to talk to him.

Sylar shielded her from the sight of her brother's lifeless body with a smile and asked her to talk with him.

They took a walk around the motel grounds as she poured out her soul to him. Sylar feigned interest as she ended their talk in tears, tried to soothe her as she buried her face in his coat, sobbing out her pain and her remorse for the lives that she had taken.

Sylar, though he felt nothing for her, was strangely able to sympathize. If only he had it in mind to tell her the truth of murder, its necessity…

The road to good intentions was and had always been paved with bloodshed. Yet, would someone like her, someone so simple minded, so incomplete, grasp such a concept, embrace it? Everything killed for survival that was the way of the world, of humanity. At the core the world was amok with lustful, sinful creatures who struggled every day to survive for yet another. He thought of her brother, having bled out those intentions in her name, only to have her betray them (even if it was only by being ignorant of the monster that had crawled into their mist) as she inched up on her tip toes to kiss her savior's lips, thanking him for having saved her, for having understood her.

Her mouth was cold, despite the desert heat. He tasted her fear but did not find it as arousing as he assumed it might; but the promise was there, he knew, he felt it in his bones. He needed this girl. There was no why and no understanding. She was needed and she would serve her purpose. That was all it took. He kissed her back, wrapping her up in his arms and soothing her with soft, gentle words until those sobs of hers had tapered off. Soon she was clutching at him, mouth no longer cold but hot and desperate.

"Can I stay in your room tonight?" She asked tentatively.

Even her shyness revolted him. He wished that she at least had the good grace to no longer feign this innocence of hers and just come out and tell him what she wanted.

"Let's stay in yours," he suggested. "The faucet is broken in mine, it'll keep us awake."

There was a look, a tentative expression of curiosity in her eyes, as if she just might just understand something about him that she had not thought to understand before. Before she could work out the puzzles in her head he silenced her questioning look with another kiss, this one firmer then the last.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, eyes squeezed close, mind searching - searching - lying to her and himself as the taste of someone else flooded his memories and they were both lost.

***

It was three days later, as he stood outside some flea bag motel in the middle of the Arizona desert, letting the dry arid taste of the desert all but melt into his lungs - stay there - that he started to question himself.

His skin crawled with dirt, dust that the winds brought. It was grit he could taste in his teeth. Sylar grimaced at the feel of it. The hot air - the still warm sun setting over the desert, oranges and reds sweeping across the sky in bold strokes. It was welcomed sight, and yet there was only apprehension in his heart.

It was a feeling, he wasn't use to. Well, not anymore. He had imagined that those days of doubt were long past. Still, he knew then that worry and doubt were not ones to simply leave. They were still there. It was because of them, to ensure his future, that he had done the unthinkable. His options were limited and it had seemed like the only thing he could do. He could no longer keep her completely ensnared with simple touches and long meaningful looks - no. Three days after her brother 'disappeared' he had laid her down across the bed in some dingy room - complete with discolored wall paper and mustard yellow, burn stained carpeting - and willed himself to make love to her.

Now, afterwards - as she lay on her side curled under a thin sheet, draped across a large queen size bed with a sagging mattress that faintly smelled of mildew and some previous resident's cheap perfume - he understand fully the man he has become: one would kill, whore, lie in the face of himself for a single goal.

She was - is - the means to an end and the end would be upon him soon. There was nowhere to go now but up. After a while he forced himself to go back to the room and curl up against her warm back - hold her.

When he slept the door returned and once more he was not allowed in - no difference there; except the door once white was now inky black and smeared in blood that was not his own.

 

***

It was almost too easy for Sylar to pick the lock on Mohinder's apartment door and let himself in, would have been easier had not been for Maya hovering over his shoulder. He let them both into the apartment and urged her to be quiet, to stay in the kitchen.

It was early morning and there was soft snoring drifting out from the bedroom. He waved Maya back as he went in the direction of it, opening the bedroom door a fraction. Mohinder lay sprawled on his back, sleeping soundly. Sylar hesitated, debated what he should do. This was the moment of truth, so to speak. He closed the door as quietly as he could and went back into the living room. Maya was waiting for him, studying the books - the thick medical tomes lining dusty shelves. She was fingering the spines.

"The doctor…"

"He's asleep," Sylar offered.

Maya's eyes went wide then, and there was the sound of the floorboards creaking.

Sylar turned to see Mohinder standing in front of him, clad in only his boxer shorts, holding a gun in an outstretched, shaking hand.

"I can't stop it this time, so if you are going to shoot me - make it good."

Mohinder's hand wavered slightly at those words. Yet somehow he managed to keep his gaze steady.

Sylar could feel the sweat cooling on his skin, betraying the calm in which he had just spoken. He kept his hands up, a gesture of surrender. Even with a gun on him, and the man holding it pissed off enough to pull the trigger; he was still elated to see Mohinder once again.

Was it possible that he was even more beautiful than before? Harder now - all those soft, vulnerable lines had melted away. He seemed stronger and more in control - save that flicker of emotion that told Sylar all he needed to know.

"Please, don't shoot - we come to find a doctor, a doctor to help us," Maya pleaded.

"What is she talking about?" Mohinder asked Sylar without looking at Maya.

"You are going to help me," Sylar whispered.

"I will never help you," Mohinder vowed, as he cocked the hammer of the gun.

"Please - if he dies, I will kill people, lots of people - please…" Maya's broken voice seemed to reach Mohinder. He lowered the weapon slightly.

"What the hell is going on?"

Maya looked from Sylar to Mohinder. She reached forward and placed her hand on Mohinder's forearm. Her touch seemed to get the reaction needed.

Mohinder slowly lowered the gun, down to his side. Now that his initial outright fear was giving way to confusion, he wanted to know what had brought Sylar crawling to his doorstep with this woman - this girl really - with her large frightened eyes and gentle pleas.

"We're sick," Sylar told Mohinder. Mohinder was taken aback by the admission. It had never been in Sylar's nature to admit defeat to anyone. It threw Mohinder off.

"Explain," he said, making sure to keep his voice full of anger. He wasn't going to simply pretend that everything was alright. Sylar had returned and with his return he had brought the same mix of emotions: fear, bitterness, and worst of all arousal. It was difficult for Mohinder to even share space with the other man with that glaring truth staring him shamelessly in the face.

"She can't control her ability and I …" The words died on his tongue then as he had thought and rethought many a time what he would say once he had Mohinder there in front of him but his words failed him. He coughed to cover his hesitance.

"She could kill a lot of people if you don't help her." He finished lamely.

Mohinder turned to Maya who was trying to steady her breathing, but there was a flash of panic on her face.

"I have killed people doctor. Please you have to help me!"

"Alright, let me have a look at you." Mohinder said simply.

***

Sylar was waiting impatiently in the living room, sitting on the sofa, and mindlessly pulling out the loose stuffing from the ancient, threadbare thing. He leaned his head back against a cushion with which faintly smelled of spice and something else, something familiar that he couldn't quite lay his finger on. He gave a start when he heard the hall bedroom door close and Mohinder emerged from the room.

The sight of him, sitting there - comfortable and nonchalant as if he owned the place made Mohinder's boil all over again. That and the smug, twisted look on that bastard's face as he looked up at the sound of Mohinder's approaching steps didn't help.

"Is she asleep?" Sylar asked. He got up and made his way over to where the geneticist stood, literally quaking with cold fury.

Sylar could see it, watched as Mohinder's hands curled themselves into tight fists. Mohinder was shaking as he stalked right up to Sylar and punched him as hard as he could in the face.

"You son of a bitch!"

Sylar straightened, all while holding up his hand in an effort to ward off another blow. He was instantly dizzy, feeling already the pain blossoming hot and fiery across his jaw - disgusted, he could taste the sharp, tang of copper as blood filled his mouth.

Mohinder had surprised even himself with that punch. He had wanted to hit the other man, probably more then he had ever wanted to hit anyone in his entire life. Still, actually doing it, he was surprised by such violence on his part and strangely proud of himself. Sylar had deserved that punch and more, much more.

Sylar whirled around then to be confronted once more by the blaze of absolute fury and disgust in Mohinder's eyes.

Sylar was pretty sure he had deserved that punch but the reason behind it startled even him as Mohinder continued to shout at him.

"Do you have any idea what you have done?"

"I have an…"

He didn't get to finish as Mohinder stepped closer and got in his face.

"She's pregnant," Mohinder finished and watched as Sylar just stood there, instantly paling with shock.

"She's what?"

"Pregnant," Mohinder spat out, "congratulations …"

Mohinder moved to hit him again, but this time Sylar caught his arm easily, twisting it just enough to hurt - forcing Mohinder to lower his arm down to his side.

"You sick son of a bitch," He growled, shaking his head in disgust.

"Stop it, Mohinder…" Sylar warned as he tried to contend with both the unwelcome news and Mohinder's fury.

Mohinder yanked his arm away and scowled at him.

Sylar was pretty sure that Mohinder had never been more desirable to him then he was at that moment, ironically enough - standing there with every bit of hatred he felt for him seeping out of his pores and permeating the air around them with it.

"Fuck you," Mohinder snarled in response as they stood there, glaring at one another, breathing heavy and…

Sylar was on him in seconds, kissing Mohinder so hard that he could do nothing except brace himself for it. He pushed against the other man's chest as he hungrily returned the kiss, for the moment taking leave of all sense and giving him self up to the unwanted attraction that promised to destroy everything.

Mohinder felt his knees buckle from the sheer force of the kiss. He tasted blood in it but also desperation and a truth, a truth so real. He could feel his resolve weaken as the mouth descended upon his with such hunger, such need.

Mohinder felt himself return it - hands curling into Sylar's hair, fisting it as he pulled them closer - lips and tongue clashing together in a tangle neither could ignore.

"Mohinder…" Sylar whispered as Mohinder moaned against his lips, all while pulling back and fighting him, succumbing and fighting all at once - the combination literally weakened Sylar. They could no longer pretend, deny what had been there between them from the very moment they had met.

Mohinder pulled away then, shoved him back and away. There was lust in his eyes but disgust coloring his features. He looked as if he would be sick - there was nothing but pain, sharp and real, in the look he gave Sylar.

Sylar was pretty sure that if he had a heart, that look would have broken it.

"You bastard." They were the only words that Mohinder felt himself capable of uttering as he stepped back - hands pushing Sylar away by the chest. Yet, the look was one of resignation and Sylar was all but sure that his expression echoed the same. Now and here, they could no longer deny what was there between them but leave it to Mohinder to try.

***

The next couple of days passed in tense silence between the two men as Mohinder busied himself studying Maya and running tests on her until Sylar was pretty sure that his head would explode from frustration. Now that he was without his powers he felt like a non entity in Mohinder's presence, a thought that especially unnerved. It drove him insane to watch as Mohinder hovered over Maya, fussing and busing himself with her health and well being.

Speaking of Maya - Sylar was fed up with her, and now she was having a baby; a terrifying and awful prospect that had turned her into an even clingier, emotional mess. He was pretty sure he was inches from murdering her in her sleep, except he worried about Mohinder's reaction, so he behaved himself. Yet each and every day found him growing angrier and angrier.

There had to be a way for Mohinder to cure him, and but so far the man had brushed him aside. Sylar hated to be ignored. He wanted to hit the other man for even daring to believe he could get away with such a thing.

Sylar waited until the following evening to finally have it out with him. He knew Mohinder was sleeping on the couch, having graciously given up his bed to the expectant mother, the expectant father having been expected to sleep next to her. Maya had tried on many a night to get intimate with him; the thought was disgusting - her small, grasping, greedy hands pawing all over him, her little whispered pleas as she pressed her breasts and soft thighs against him and begged him to make love to her. He muttered excuses about stress, about it not being 'right' in her condition, anything and everything he could think of to keep her away from him. Finally, she would roll over and go to sleep, and he would find himself lying there, staring up at the ceiling, thinking of the mess he was in and what he could do to get himself out of it. He had used sex as a weapon, a means to an end and now, now he had no choice but to deal with the consequences of his actions. How could he have screwed things up so completely? He had only meant to keep her with him long enough to get his foot in the door with Mohinder and now, now he had been delegated to the background as Mohinder turned all his attention towards her.

After Maya had finally fallen into a deep sleep, he climbed out from under her cloying, grasping hands; he made his way out into the living room. He took the seat in the worn arm chair across from Mohinder, simply watching him as he slept. He could not help himself as he reached across the space between them to twirl a finger amongst the tangle of bed-heavy curls. The gesture woke Mohinder who had only just managed to fall to sleep a few minutes prior.

He came to with a start. Frightened eyes fluttered open, coming to rest on the figure across from him. He watched Sylar as he dropped his hand away, not saying a word but merely watching. His head tilted to the side as if he were studying him.

Mohinder shivered against a chill as it crawled across his spine and settled nervously in the pit of his stomach. There were no words for either man to say to the other as their eyes met in the gloom of the room and held. Then Mohinder was reaching over and switching the light on by the sofa, filling the once dark room with murky yellow light.

"What do you want?" Mohinder's words were sleep-heavy and harsh.

"You really don't know, do you?" Sylar asked his eyes intensely focused as he made a move once again touch him. Mohinder pulled away from the gesture.

"Don't touch me," he snarled.

Sylar sighed and leaned back in his seat, raking his hands through his hair as he struggled to make Mohinder understand.

"You still don't realize that what I did, I did that for you Mohinder. I did it for you and for us."

Mohinder only shook his head clearly disgusted with him.

Mohinder made a move to stand and push past him but Sylar stood and caught his arm and jerked him back towards him. Mohinder tried to fight back against the hard grip of fingernails pressed into his forearm but gave up when he realized that Sylar was determined to have his say. Mohinder faced him with an irritated huff.

"Listen to me…" Sylar insisted.

Mohinder all but laughed in his face. He was done listening. He had heard more than enough.

"There is no us, not now and not ever - you might want to consider your other options." He spat out, words coated with bitterness.

"I don't love her," Sylar protested, tightening his hold on him, shaking him a bit as if it might help Mohinder to hear him out.

"You only love you, of course you don't love her," Mohinder sneered.

"You know why I don't love her - why I never will. Stop - fighting - me," Sylar hissed as he slammed Mohinder's body flush against his own.

He watched as Mohinder's eyes searched his, full of anger and sorrow - and dare he say it lust - all fighting for control over one another.

"Don't you dare give me that," Mohinder seethed. "Don't you dare pretend I mean anything more to you than that poor girl in there…"

Sylar released the other man's arm roughly, causing him to stumble back a bit.

"I did this for us, maybe one day you'll get it that," Sylar whispered angrily.

"Gabriel, are you…"

The sound of her voice startled the both of them, jumping and turning towards the sound. They both glanced in the direction of the door as Maya popped her head out from the entryway – her hair disheveled, deep purple bruises around her eyes from the lack of sleep she had been getting.

"Is everything okay?"

Sylar nodded, finding it hard for him to tear his gaze away from Mohinder in order to address her. He tried to make his expression as relaxed as possible as he willed himself to smile at her, hoping to pacify her enough so that she would leave.

"It's fine, go back to sleep. You're going to need your rest now."

Maya made no move to heed him. Instead she made her way further into the room, obviously not immune to the thick tension as she looked from one man to the other, studying them carefully through questioning eyes. She went to Sylar's side and gently touched his arm. Sylar fought hard against the urge to shake her hand off as she leaned towards him.

"Come back to bed with me," she urged.

Sylar looked from her and then back to Mohinder's fiery gaze. Sylar could feel the arousal such a glare fill him with, consuming him. In that moment he wanted nothing more then to have Mohinder pinned between himself and the wall – fucking him until the other man gave up, gave into him, all while crying out his name until his throat was raw, until there was no doubt who he belonged to, would always belong to.

"Go back to the bedroom, please Maya," Sylar said as he turned reluctantly towards her.

"I'll be there in a moment – I need to finish up something with Dr. Suresh."

Maya looked over to Mohinder uneasily and nodded as he offered her a strained smile in response.

"Ok, Gabriel…I'll go," she said as Sylar leaned forward to smooth back her hair and kiss her forehead.

"Thank you," he said as she turned and went back down the hall.

They waited until the door closed behind her.

"This is twisted even for you," Mohinder seethed once she was safely out of earshot. "You should be ashamed of yourself…"

"Don't give me that," Sylar growled as he turned furious eyes on Mohinder. "Don't you act as if I was ever worthy of being saved!"

"Then why did you come here? You don't need me – "

"You're wrong, Mohinder," Sylar said quickly as he reached towards him, fighting the urge to run a finger down the stubble-flecked line of his jaw. His own dark eyes burning deep into the other man's as they stood face to face, breathing heavy and unable to look away from each other.

"I will help her but you, you can go hell!" Mohinder hissed after a moment.

Sylar watched as Mohinder went and left the room, listening to the sound of a door slamming shut and the unmistakable sound of Mohinder's back hitting the wall, sliding down it. He could hear him choking back sobs as he tucked himself into a ball on floor, fighting back tears.

Sylar took a deep breath and stormed towards the closed bathroom door. He expected it to be locked but it wasn't. It opened in his hand. Mohinder looked up, eyes wet with emotion but he didn't seem surprised. It was almost as if he had been expecting him.

He didn't hesitate.

Up against the wall, he slammed him now. His hands buried in his hair, pulling his head back so that his throat was laid bare. He attacked it with his lips, his teeth - biting and sucking and moaning into it. He ground his hardness against the other man, could feel him harden under him as well.

Then they were both kissing so hard they could scarcely breathe as they moved against one another. They ached for one another.

They wasted no time in pulling clothing off the other, buttons being popped without care. Their shirts were shredded and tossed aside as their mutual greedy hands started to unsnap offending pant buckles; fingers being crushed as they eagerly pulled down zippers and slid jeans down and off. Sylar pushed the other man's boxers down his slim hips and sank down to his knees. He reached up and pushed Mohinder back against the wall. The yelp of pain the other man let out brought a smile to Sylar's face as he took him into his mouth.

Mohinder groaned at the feel of his mouth sliding down his length, all warm wetness. The pleasure unreal as he leaned back against the wall, tangling his hands in Sylar's hair and thrusting into his open mouth, desperate for more of that beautiful friction. His whole body seemed to be screaming out loud for of it.

"More, more," he demanded in a weak whisper.

Sylar was happy to oblige him - taking him as deeply as he could while reveling in the feel of him - hot and heavy, his skin against his lips burning. Sylar moved his hands upwards, continued to caress and stroke the man in front of him, every hard line - every delicate dip of his hip bones, over the smooth planes of his torso.

Mohinder closed his eyes against the feel of it, his heart pounding in chest, the thought of how wrong this was, how horribly wrong it was to have this man, this killer, on his knees before him, doing something so intimate. Yet everything felt so wet and warm and good, the feel of those hands - moving to touch him so greedily, so hungry. Mohinder had never hated himself more than he did at that moment. It was the moment when he finally realized how powerless he truly was, and how desperately he craved this, despite the wrong, despite all the nagging doubts. How much he wanted the man before him, had wanted him even after he had found out the truth. Now, now - he could no longer deny this hunger, could only give in. Mohinder gripped Sylar by the back of his head and pushed him closer - forcing him to take him deeper, being rough - wanting to hurt him; but the harder he was, the more demanding - the more Sylar seemed to love it, getting off on the abuse that Mohinder afflicted, panting and trying not to make a noise, knowing who was in the next room. And oh god, Mohinder wished he had the will power to stop this but he couldn't.

"Please, please… "He murmured as Sylar whimpered at the feel of Mohinder's length striking the back of his throat which with each push and pull forward and back. The feel of Mohinder's anger coursing through the brutal slam of his hips, the way they demanded his pain. Sylar had never been so completely turned on and aroused in his entire life. Then Mohinder was coming, coming so hard that there was little more than sensation, the feel of his legs buckling from the sheer strength of his climax. He sank down now, weakened.

Sylar was already removing the rest of Mohinder's clothes while tearing off his own. He pressed Mohinder down onto the tiled floor. Mohinder put up his hands to stop him, ward him off, but Sylar had already slicked up his own throbbing erection, spit and cum and plunged himself inside Mohinder who gave a shudder, and a broken sob against the sudden intrusion. His head thrown back against the floor, he bit his lip against the sudden pain, the burn of being stretched.

"Stop," he pleaded as Sylar hauled his legs up and around him, pushed himself in and out, moaning at feel of the other man, his warmth, the tightness of him, squeezing him.The cries Mohinder made as he pleaded, tried to fight him off, all to have his wrists pinned hard, the fingertips grinding into bones.

"Stop it, please…"

"Shut up. I want you - this - let me have it." He all but begged as he started to slam into him, harder - rougher, leaned down now to trail kisses over Mohinder's body.

"Mohinder, oh god, you feel…"

"Stop it, Sylar… stop…"

He couldn't stop; not now, not ever. He needed this, needed him and he could not be contained, nor could he be denied. Already he could feel the orgasm building strong and steady, his thrusts becoming more erratic and more demanding as he pulled out now, only to plunge once more inside him.

Mohinder had tried to fight him off but it was no use, none. The pain was fading now, leaving behind a warm pleasure that he wanted to deny but couldn't - the cries of pain lessening as his cries became those of pleasure. He whimpered, desperate for more.

Sylar realized then that he Mohinder was no longer fighting him but arching upwards. Sylar released his hands and immediately Mohinder was reaching forward to grip him by the biceps as Sylar fucked him, hard and rough and dirty on the floor.

A part of him knew, then and there, that this would be the last time he would ever have him, and he wanted Mohinder to know - wanted Mohinder to feel him ever afterwards. This was his, they belonged to one another and nothing and no one in this whole fucked up world would ever change that one essential truth.

Mohinder was panting, desperate, and Sylar reached down, fisting his cock in hand. Every thrust was harder then the last, his caresses desperate and Mohinder was soon rock hard in his hand, and he knew, could tell by the way he moaned now, the way his cock felt slick and ready in his hand, that he was close to another climax.

"Mohinder…"

It was the only word he was capable of uttering as he could feel his own orgasm starting to build, build with the weight of thunderbolt behind it. Already Sylar felt the pleasure shooting from the top of his head, downwards.

This was more then sex, this was something else…

The single most incredible sensation he had ever felt and he knew like everything good, it could not last.

"I hate you," Mohinder whispered as he came - hot and heavy over Sylar's fist. Sylar knew better as he leaned his entire body across the other man, trapping him between himself and the floor, hands positioned on either side of him, his lips inches from Mohinder's own.

Then he was coming, the orgasm a blinding white light that broke up the world around him. He groaned into Mohinder lips, collapsing onto his panting, sweaty body - feeling strangely fulfilled.

'And I think I am in love with you…' He thought but could never say.

***

Afterwards, they had gotten up; pulling their clothes on and avoiding eye contact. The sun was coming up now as Mohinder offered to make them tea. Wearily, Sylar followed him to the kitchen.

"There is no other option," Mohinder told him. His voice little more then a faint whisper, one drenched in bitterness.

Sylar watched him unable to find the words, any words.

Mohinder turned away from the stove, finally looked at him. There was a long moment of thought for both of them. Suddenly everything was so clear. He knew what had to be done. He went to speak, making sure to keep the tone of his voice steady, strong.

"This is what will happen."

Sylar didn't speak. He waited as Mohinder continued.

"You will either take Maya and leave my apartment and you will help her raise that child, or you will leave this apartment, alone – and from that point on you will not bother her or I, ever again – understand?"

Sylar was still silent. He waited for the compensation. Mohinder did not disappoint. The tough tone of his voice wavered as he spoke once more.

"And in exchange I will give you back your abilities"

Sylar felt as if all the air had been drained out of his lungs –

He knew the third option – but Mohinder not offering a third option. Sylar moved forwards slowly and reached for him. He watched as Mohinder shuddered under his touch but didn't pull away.

"You'll give me the cure?"

"If you do either of those things," a heavy pause, "then yes…"

Sylar reached over and tilted Mohinder's face towards his own.

"Okay," he said.

"You agree?" Mohinder whispered, those dark eyes searching his own, hesitant and unsure.

Sylar nodded. This time he would hold true to his promises. He would do what Mohinder asked. There was nothing here for him anyway. Not with that cold look of hatred still lying there just below the surface of Mohinder's eyes, the way his body had failed to truly give into his own.

There was no such thing as redemption, he realized in that moment; perhaps for others, but not for him. There was too much blackness there, too many wrongs and not enough rights. It was the one thing he had now in his power to give him and Maya and that child, his child. There was nothing more. There never would be.

He waited a moment, afraid to hear his voice crack - to hear himself broken, and resigned - but Mohinder was watching waiting for him to speak.

"What is it Mohinder? Where is the cure?"

Mohinder had to look away.

"The deal," Sylar reminded him firmly.

"It's me," Mohinder finally answered, "It's my blood…"

Sylar just stared at him, dumbfounded – "How?"

Mohinder bit his lip, "It's...a long story, longer then either of us have time for.." Mohinder glanced to the open window, drew in a deep breath.

"It will be day soon," he turned back towards the other man.

"Then we had better make this quick," was Sylar's reply.

 

***

When Maya woke up and realized Gabriel had left her, she had retreated to her room and cried for three days straight. Mohinder was grateful for the inhibitor that he had given her, or else she would have single handily wiped out the entire neighborhood with the strength of her sobs.

Mohinder could shed no tears himself, but he understood the depth of the young woman's misery. He did his best to make sure she ate and took care of herself and her child. She remained tearful for many a day until one morning she awoke and looked surprisingly more alert and more resigned to her fate. Even though, she had been silent during the past weeks. Maya was now quite curious and began to ask Mohinder many questions about 'Gabriel.' The only thing Mohinder could offer her was the essential truth, he did not want her or their child – he had left and she would never see him again.

She took the news surprisingly well and for that he was grateful.

Mohinder reassured her that she was more then welcome to stay with him. In a way he was glad for her company, needed it. Maya agreed and together they formed a union of sorts; one that was fairly comfortable. He made sure she was calm, well looked after, and in return she made sure he ate and got proper rest. They really had no one save each other and they bonded over their mutual betrayal. They were fast friends before they even realized such a thing had occurred.

Soon, by the beginning of her sixth month, Maya started to smile again – even taking a bit of delight in the child growing inside her. The months passed, and strangely enough Mohinder grew close to Maya.

It was pity at first that drew him to her, pity for her and for himself – both fools, both having fallen blindly into the clutches of a killer. Since he had given the man his blood, not too mention his body and more of his heart then he would ever admit, it seemed only natural in some darkly twisted way that he care for and protect the mother of his child. A child and a woman he had abandoned.

It was for both their sakes, Sylar would never have been the man either needed or deserved. It was best this way, Mohinder decided. There seemed to be no other way to explain it.

So when Sylar's daughter was born on a bone-chillingly cold day in late December, it was Mohinder who was by Maya's side as she brought a squalling and healthy baby girl into the world. Mohinder looked on with tears, thick and hard in his throat. She looked like her mother. This pleased Mohinder, who doubted he could bare that man's face stamped anywhere on a child so young, so delicate. Maya named her Alejandra Lupe.

The years passed, and Maya never left – instead in some odd way she and Mohinder became a family.

Only once, months after Alejandra's birth did Maya try to make their relationship more. She had crawled into bed with him in the middle of the night. After, he did his best to turn her down as gently as possible – they had fallen asleep wrapped in one another's arms, holding each other. At dawn – Alejandra was up and bawling.

Mohinder had left the new, exhausted mother asleep and went to the crying, screaming infant and gathered the child up in his arms, did his best to shush her. Funny, as much as Mohinder hated to remind himself whose daughter Alejandra was, the truth was that in moments such as these - as she would lie there, her adorable, red cheeked face scrunched up and angry – demanding to be taken seriously, to be listened to – that Mohinder was reminded of the man he had unwittingly fallen for.

But the other man kept his promise and stayed away. Mohinder wasn't sure if he was grateful or disappointed…

 

***

The years had not been especially kind to him – they had been long and filled with even more bloodshed then he himself was comfortable with. It had been a continuous, uphill climb that had left him more powerful then he had imagined; beyond his wildest dreams. Yet, the truth was for all the power, the glory his abilities had brought him; he was also lonely. The old adage of it being lonelier on the top was far too true in his case.

He had long since gotten used to being alone, never believing that he needed anyone. He had tried over the years to convince himself that he was beyond such petty all-too human needs - he didn't need anyone - but now it was becoming harder and harder for him to believe that. All his waking and non waking thoughts still laid tangled in the sharp image of that one face that he carried with him on his travels. It was the face he had long ago committed to memory and the person whom he could not out run. So, against his better judgment he had gone back to New York. Now, with his newest gift, taken from a spoiled Long Island housewife –

Sylar could observe the man he had loved and the daughter he had abandoned from a safe enough distance that they would never notice.

He had kept casual tabs on them over the years, noted the various changes that had occurred. He had made sure to get the address when Mohinder had moved from his father small apartment to a larger, much nicer one after Maya had given birth. He had observed that Maya had stayed with Mohinder, and that together they were raising the child together, a little girl.

He had watched as his daughter had grown from an infant swaddled in heavy blankets to the tall, lanky young woman now hanging off of some monkey bars. He did the math quickly and realized that she was now twelve years old. She had long dark hair now tied up in a pony tail, her mother's coloring but her eyes, her eyes were his own - deep, fathomless, dark.

The little girl was playing with another girl her age while Mohinder sat off to the side on a park bench, a newspaper spread out in his hands, reading - a Styrofoam cup by his side. He was wearing reading glasses and his hair had grayed a bit at the temples but he looked more or less the same. Older, sure, and a touch harder, but still so goddamn beautiful that the black hole inside Sylar ached, ached for him as it had done with or without his consent for the last twelve years.

He looked from each of them, back and forth - feeling like a voyeur prying into a life that could not and would never include him. He was glad that it was Mohinder who his daughter had to emulate. Mohinder was strong and he was good and he would care for her. He must, having raised her since her infancy.

Sylar watched as Mohinder folded up his paper and stood, throwing his empty cup into a nearby trash. Then he was turning, turning in the direction that Sylar was- and pausing then almost as if… there was a slight frown on his face, those deep, dark eyes of his probing, searching but it was impossible. There was no way he could see him from this distant, no way at all and yet, Sylar felt a cold chill work it's way up his spine.

Then Mohinder turned back towards the playground and called out to the girl, who stopped in her play, jumped down from her perch on the monkey bars and hurriedly went to Mohinder's side, taking the hand that he held out to her. Sylar felt a small pang in his heart then at the sight, the sight of his daughter's small hand in Mohinder's own; the two of them laughing now as he led her away from the park. She was skipping - her smile was huge and happy and Sylar knew, knew that despite whatever misgivings he had entertained, he had made the right choice. He had given them each other and they seemed happy, happy and safe in a world that he knew was all the better for not have ever included him.

He turned and left.

There was no door. There was no end. This was his life, this was all there was. He had deserved this from the very beginning - emptiness, loss, defeat and they, they had deserved each other.

The only two people in the world who could have meant anything at all.


End file.
